


Unreliable Narration

by vvwrites (beingvv)



Series: Hakukai [4]
Category: Magic Kaito
Genre: Basically a whole lot of Kaito holding his hand over his ear and going lalala nope, Crack, Dumb teens in love, Frenemy to Lovers, Humor, I don't know why I wrote this, Idiots in Love, Kaito's Hakuba-shaped Self-denial(TM), M/M, Romance, Unreliable Narration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingvv/pseuds/vvwrites
Summary: Basically Kaito trying very hard at casual sex with his frenemy and failing miserably. Hakuba meanwhile, thought they were dating (poor Hakuba)
Relationships: Hakuba Saguru/Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid
Series: Hakukai [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797130
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80
Collections: Best Sagukai Fics





	Unreliable Narration

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those fics where they probably wouldn’t, but what if they did. 150% crack with feelings I guess? Also Kaito is 500% frazzled in this fic, and the title says it all: unreliable narration abound. Kaito's internal monologue not to be trusted. Cultural stereotypes not to be taken seriously. No Brits were harmed in the making of this fic.  
> 白马君辛苦了

He had to admit, Hakuba was a good lay.

Not that he had much experience to compare with, but one knew these things instinctively. Surely one did.

There was no other reason to explain why he kept going back.

The last thing Kaito wanted was for this to be a cliche love-hate kinda thing, but this was, he was loath to admit, a love-hate kinda thing.

The first time it happened was an accident.

And it was a cliche because Kaito kept telling himself it was an accident.

Hakuba looked surprised, when they somehow ended up kissing, not an “I didn’t know you were interested” kind of surprised, but a “really? here?” kind of surprised. It was vaguely self-satisfied and maddeningly smug, which Kaito hated, so he made his point by sticking his tongue in.

Hakuba merely laughed, grabbed him by the collar and demonstrated how exactly said tongue was supposed to be involved in kissing.

They were, at that fateful point in time, in a dark, empty alley behind a nondescript building.

Yes, a very well established cliche, he was aware.

He had been running then, as Kaitou KID, disguised and in civilian clothes, losing most of the Taskforce except one. Hakubastard just didn’t know when to give up. He was chased across three neighbourhoods, long after the sirens were out of earshot range. It was windy and dark, Jii was abroad, and Hakubastard had sabotaged all six of his escape routes via road.

So Kaito ran.

The novelty wore off after the first fifteen minutes, and all Kaito felt was ire — that idiot of a detective just doesn’t. Know. When. To. Give. Up.

Hakuba saw him, straight through the crowd and came at him again, not bothering to call out his name, not alerting anyone to his whereabouts. He had a gleam in his eye, like he was enjoying this, the bastard, as if he knew he’d get Kaito all to himself by the end of the night.

It was a delirious, stalkerish train of thought, but Kaito wasn’t thinking straight — Hakuba had him down as “endurance: poor” in one of his files, and he so very much hated when Hakuba was right.

Kaito stopped, back against the alley wall, panting, and waited for the exact moment as Hakuba stepped through to grab him by the collar.

He wouldn’t call it a kiss, preferring the term “noise reduction technique”, or “enemy sabotage”, or any number of things that could distract himself from the fact that he was, yes, pressed lip against lip, with an annoying detective who just didn’t know when to give up.

Hakuba looked dubious, even as he kissed him back enthusiastically, one hand on his collar, one hand smoothing down the back of his head.

“Here?” Hakuba said, and Kaito heard, for the first time in the evening, a note of uncertainty in that incredibly smug voice.

“What, what,” Kaito replied, agitated and grinding with intense hatred onto Hakuba’s thigh, “You want to buy me dinner first?”

“Actually I had hoped,” Hakuba said, with a hint of regret, as if to say that this offended his genteel sensibilities.

“You have issues,” Kaito said, sincere as can be. “We are enemies, you know that.”

“An issue-ridden statement if I ever heard one,” Hakuba said pleasantly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, even as he reached for Kaito’s erection. “But I am happy to defer to your wishes.”

Kaito barked out a laugh then, and pulled the hateful idiot into another kiss, and they resolved their issues — temporarily — in the back alley.

Hakuba heeded his wishes, and Kaito his, because after all, they both prided themselves as gentlemen. Hakuba dropped him back home and pressed an honest to god good-night kiss to his cheek too. It was utterly ridiculous, it made Kaito’s blood boil, and his heart sing.

They didn’t get around to actual sex until, what, tryst number seven? At that point Kaito stopped calling it a mistake, because it would simply reflect badly upon his character and intelligence, to see himself repeat something so dumb, so many times.

At least Hakuba didn’t seem to mind. The idiot even looked happy, because Kaito had allowed himself, on that night, to be bought dinner.

In the form of takeout, because no way was he gonna be seen with Hakuba in public, and he was not in the mood to dress up as a pretty young thing to be dangled on Hakuba’s arms, either, so.

Hakuba was less happy about the takeout, but they were enemies, therefore compromises must.

It was stupid, in hindsight, because somehow Hakuba was in his house, and the idiot came over as himself, just as Kaito was there as himself, and why would Kaito even spend time with this smug, doesn’t-know-what’s-good-for-him detective?

Kaito stared at the ceiling feelingly, as some plot-thin film played on TV, which, in his opinion, was only delaying the inevitable.

“I can see this is holding your attention very well,” Hakuba commented.

“Oh haha,” Kaito said. “As if you didn’t figure out the culprit in the first ten minutes of this thing.”

“I am touched,” Hakuba said. “When I said feel free to pick something to watch, I did not expect you would pick a murder mystery.”

Was he insinuating that Kaito somehow cared for his tastes? How dare he.

“Meh,” Kaito said. Intelligently, while staring at the ceiling.

Hakuba laughed lightly, with that smug look of his, as if he knew what Kaito was really thinking.

“Okay,” Hakuba said.

And climbed over to kiss him.

It was kind of great, but also kind of annoying, because it was exactly what he had wanted, and how dare Hakuba just shove it in his face like that. Hakuba worked at his buttons, pushing him back onto the tatami like how he wanted, and only broke for air when he reached into his underwear.

Hakuba raised an eyebrow, eyes bright and face flushed, looking somehow slightly shy and immeasurably pleased all at once, forgoing the hand that’s tumbling with his shirt buttons, and dropped a featherlight kiss to his forehead. Kaito’s eyes fluttered close.

“Don’t be absurd,” Kaito mumbled. “I didn’t trust you to do it properly, so I did it myself.”

Hakuba let out a puff of air, and nipped on his ear. “You hold me in such high regard,” he said. It was supposed to be sarcastic, Kaito thought, but somehow it came out terrifyingly genuine.

“I absolutely do not,” Kaito said, “Are you just going to talk all night?”

No, there was not much talking that night.

He had a sneaky feeling that Hakuba had hoped for some more talking, but Kaito didn’t allow it. Hakuba acquiesced, because, despite everything, Kaito knew he had some form of hold over the guy. They were enemies, but when he needed, Hakuba somehow, in his own way, always gave him what he wanted.

Kaito tried not to think too hard about it.  
  
So somehow this became a thing. Kaito had seen films, been on the Internet, knew this was a thing. A thing, because he had no other word for it. Hakuba was a good lay. (A good lay, because he resolutely do not want to refer to the guy with any another l words — loser, maybe, but not _that_ one). And as an internationally wanted thief, even he needed some stress relief now and then. So he was reasonably content with the arrangements.

Reasonably content, because in no way was he _enthusiastic_ about it. It was — necessary. How else was he supposed to deal with his rival and their ongoing issues? Hakuba was _relentless_.

Which could be, as Kaito soon discovered, a somewhat desirable trait in bed.

Honestly: he hated the guy.

He hated the guy, not least because Hakuba seemed smug _and_ happy, as if they now shared a secret, which, not to put too fine a point on it, they now did. Kaito was less happy about this, yet realised soon afterwards that the only way to wipe that smirk off Hakuba’s face was to kiss him. Hakubastard really was the bane of his existence.

Summer arrived and things escalated a little. Hot weather and teenage hormones did not sensible pair make, ergo, Kaito fell into a bad habit. Namely, having his frenemy over way more than what was necessarily considered healthy.

Hakuba, for some unfathomable reason, insisted on bringing things over each time — ice cream, snacks, a book, a game he’d been eyeing — little non-sensical offerings, as if he needed to be appeased. Being the idiot detective that he was, though, Hakuba didn’t seem to pay much attention to the actual necessary things — twice Hakuba forgot to bring condom and he almost never brings over lubricant, which means Kaito had to stock up himself.

Hakuba almost never initiated sex either, which frustrated Kaito to no end. The guy always had to look for some clue that he was interested, happy to brush a kiss to his forehead, his eyes, the inside of his wrist, while watching him intently, waiting for him to break first.

“Gentleman, my ass,” Kaito mumbled as he set up a standing order on Amazon.

This was getting ridiculous.

Even little _tantei_ was looking at him weird. Once a whooping count of five detectives came to his heist and Kaito got a bit over excited and did a trick that may or may not be considered reckless, by a certain health-and-safety-obsessed Brit’s standards, and the next thing he knew Hakuba was pulling him into a bruising kiss, all silent frustration and coiled agitation, which lasted about fifteen seconds too short, and ended with a dark look that promised more later. Kaito stumbled out from the stairwell face flushed and turned on, and ran promptly into little _tantei_ , who just looked at him with these half moon eyes and said “figures”, before stalking off.

Kaito didn’t bother going home that night. He landed on Hakuba’s balcony, bringing with him wings and the night wind, smiling like a predator that he wanted to be.

Hakuba watched him with hooded eyes and proceeded to fulfil that early promise. Three times. By the end of it, Kaito was flushed and dripping and gasping with sobs, feeling something hot and intense flash at the very core of his being; hatred, no doubt, with some carnal desire, yes, but mostly hatred, he told himself. How dare Hakubastard make him feel this way.

No one, _no one_ made him feel this way.

Once they did it on a rooftop. While dressed as KID and detective. Because where else would he get the hatred, except for when the detective didn’t know when to give up?

“Are you sure you are amenable to this?” Hakuba said.

“Am I amenable,” Kaito mumbled, pulling him in for another kiss. “You are totally ridiculous.”

“Let me rephrase,” Hakuba smirked against his lips. “Are you amenable to be had right here? Exposed, wanting… above everyone’s eye of sight, but mine.”

Yes, he was amenable. Goddammit.

If Kaito was to describe their relationship, it would be: curious with a chance of hatred. Like the June weather, it could be laughter and jabbing remarks one minute, and hot, scolding kisses the next. Exactly as he had wanted, but that was beside the point.

They still pretended that they absolutely hated each other during school hours. Well, Kaito continued to pretend, while Hakuba, problematic as he was, had long since given up the pretence. He even asked after Kaito’s day, how are you, are you well, would you like to share my lunch, that sort of thing. Utterly pointless, but somehow Kaito hadn’t the heart to refuse. Hakuba had a chef in that ridiculous mansion of his and his bento did taste good, and for some unfathomable reason, Hakuba didn’t eat fish either.

“Does that mean you are not into fish and chips, like the rest of your brethren?” Kaito asked around a mouthful of Tamagoyaki. “British people are weird.”

Hakuba smiled at him indulgently and patted his head.

Sometimes hatred wasn’t the right word. Like that one time when they did it in the locker room stall, after gym class. Kami-sama above, could this get any more cliched? Dread and hopelessness, Kaito thought, even as he pushed Hakuba into the stall and locked doors, that is what I get from dallying with this idiot detective. Look at his face. He hated that look, that initial mild surprise melting into “ah, of course” sort of look, as if Hakuba could have any idea what went on in his head. As if Hakuba could understand him, see through him, see him for what he really meant, that _hebo-tantei_.

Kaito didn’t know what he meant.

It was pure instinct: call it hormones, call it stress relief, call it bad choices, because Kaito had given up at this point. The idiot detective was receiving far too much attention in P. E., from excited classmates who remarked on his height, which stood out like a sore thumb in Japan, and stature, which apparently coupled with his “impeccable manners” and “dashing smile” made the stuff of girl’s dreams. Impeccable manners and dashing smile, honestly. Dripping sarcasm and arrogant smirk, more like. Half of his classmates were clearly blind, even if Kaito was the one actually committing to bad choices.

At least he wasn’t alone in this.

Hakuba put a hand on his face and asked him, softly, “what do you want,” as if Kaito had any idea what he wanted. Kaito did not want to be made aware of how his classmates ogled this idiot detective, thank you, very much less fantasise about him. God, some of the girls had really filthy imaginations. Hakuba absolutely was _not_ like that in bed, he was —

He was.

For some reason, Hakuba smiled and kissed him. Not a smirk, not a grin, and not deliberately dashing either, just a small, secretive smile, as if he knew something Kaito didn’t. Kaito couldn’t for the love of him fathom why. He was still scowling even as Hakuba took him in with grace, half kneeling in front of him, like a knight before a prince. Kaito pushed the back of his hand into his mouth and thought, aimlessly, that Hakubastard had really long lashes.

Oh sweet Kami, let him hate this guy.

Usually they met after his heists. Stress relief, for both parties, but also because he was a gentleman thief and thinking of the detective, Kaito informed Hakuba cheerfully, since “all the failures of trying to capture me must be getting on your nerves.” Hakuba looked at him oddly for a few seconds, snorted, and yanked him in for a scathing kiss. Alright, so Hakuba was a sore loser. Which meant Kaito won there and then. This pleased him to no end.

Then they started meeting before his heists. Hakuba, sadistic bastard as he was, would push into him, drive him to delirium and relay him in detail his deductions and predictions, his offense and defense, watching Kaito closely for his reaction, smirking slightly when he got a point right. Smug, ridiculous bastard, but Kaito was never one to back down from challenge, so Kaito paid the favour in kind. Turns out Hakuba wasn’t lying when he said Kaito was the only person who can affect his thinking. More than just thinking. What would those idiot detective fans think, Kaito thought wildly, if they would see Hakuba now, flushed and panting, tied to his bedpost?

“I had — no idea,” Hakuba ground out, eyes bright and intent, “That you were into — ”

“Shut up,” Kaito said, sinking down with a small gasp. That familiar intense burn was unfurling in his belly, and he would very much liked to see that coherence wiped off of that beautiful face. “Shut up.”

Hakuba shut up and kissed him.

Once they did _not_ have sex. They had met after the heist, as usual, Kaito had impatiently initiated, as usual, but Hakuba took one look at him and gently pried his hands away. Was it because of his slightly shaking fingers? The heist had been a challenge, and the overzealous Nakamori-keibu had gotten close more than once, so of course Hakuba thought he was shaken up. The real reason, of course, the idiot detective will never know: he was perfectly fine perching on that statue, and he was perfectly happy to let Nakamori-keibu have a grab at this glove, but the angle was wrong, it was — it was.

It reminded him too much of that night.

Nightmare’s face flashed across Kaito’s mind like a blinding scar and he shuddered, drawing a steadying breath. It didn’t help that it was coming up to that fateful night’s anniversary. Kaito still thought about Kenta sometimes, wishing he could have helped more. It was fruitless, he knew, and illogical, but he had long since given up the pretence that his life had any logic in it. He was looking for a gem which granted immortality, advised by a scarlet witch, and chased by an idiot detective whom he happened to be falling into bed with.

Sometimes literally.

Hakuba hugged him to sleep that night, rubbing gentle circles on his back and pressing featherlight kisses to the top of his head. It was — sweet, but also weird, because of how much it had felt right. Hakuba and he weren’t even friends.

This was getting truly ridiculous.

Then came a night where Hakuba opened the door, sleeves rolled up to his elbow and eyes tired, a hard look on his face, but softened at the sight of him nonetheless.

“Hey,” Hakuba said. “Come in.”

They drank tea at the kitchen table. Hakuba was unusually quiet, a faraway look in his eye, and for some unfathomable reason, thanked him halfway through their tea in silence. Kaito couldn’t figure out whether he was confused or worried. Something strange was simmering in his chest, not as strong as that familiar hatred, but somehow it hurt more. His idiot detective’s lips were downturned at the corners, no grin, no smirk, not even a gentle, secretive smile. Unsettling. He did not like it, not in the least. Hakuba also did not respond to his usual jabs, or even gentle prodding, just looked — young, and lost, genuinely upset, which made Kaito’s fingertips tighten around his mug.

“Is it a case?” Kaito asked finally.

Hakuba rubbed at his eyebrow. “I should be better at this,” he mumbled.

Somehow Kaito didn’t think the idiot detective was referring to his deduction skills.

“Maybe you should stick to KID heists,” Kaito offered at last. “Leave the gore to little _tantei_. He seems better vaccinated against these sort of things.”

Hakuba snorted, and there was a small twitch to his lips. Kaito counted that as a win.

He hugged Hakuba to sleep that night, allowing the idiot detective to tuck his face in the crook of his shoulder, wrapped around each other like they were both afraid of letting go. Kaito closed his eyes and told himself it was just a favour repaid.

He was finding it harder and harder to hate Hakuba. Which, bit not good. Hakubastard was the bane of his existence, and complacence in his line of work was a dangerous thing. The idiot detective never did give up: still gave him a run for his gem at each KID heist, still traded sniping remarks with him in and outside of class, and overall, was still insufferably smug. He also looked at Kaito with these smiling eyes, somehow both soft and intense at the same time, like he was at once the most difficult puzzle and the precious gem in the world. The thought made little hairs stand at the back of his neck and something hot and spiteful unfurl at the bottom of his belly, and Kaito hated the feeling. It was — not unlike ice skating, he thought glumly, over a chocolate cone that Hakuba bought for him. That bright smile really made his head spin.

Hakuba grinned and swiped a thumb at the corner of his lips, licking away a stray drop of chocolate. Kaito flushed in embarrassment.

Yes, he definitely still hated the guy.

  
Kaito needed to up his game — not just with KID, even though it was kind of hilarious how little _tantei_ had lost all interest in his heists, and actually started to look _put upon_ whenever KID appeared in his vicinity, especially with Hakuba in tow, with that too-old-for-a-seven-years-old look in his eye, mumbling “Again? I’ve had enough of this”. Kaito would have laughed, if not for the fact that little _tantei_ was 100% a demon child and was 150% petty and vengeful when he wanted. Edogawa widened those innocent eyes and said to an amused Hakuba, “Alele, did Hakuba-neesan not hear? Heiji-neechan nearly kissed KID once, shame you were not there — ”

Hakuba’s posture remained mild but the look in his eye grew more and more amused as the story went on. By the end of the evening, the only person not amused was Kaito. Somehow Hakuba was waiting for him at home — at his home! Cheerfully saying something about let in by Aoko while purposefully stalking towards him with a glint in his eye.

Kaito’s back hit the wall. Hakuba smirked at him.

This was entirely unimaginative, he thought, even as he surged into the kiss. Hakubastard really was ludicrous.

The next morning he watched Hakuba putter around in his kitchen making eggs. Why. Why was his frenemy in his house, making him eggs? The soft golden ray of the morning sun caught on Hakuba’s hair and he looked — happy, Kaito thought a little wildly. Content. Pleased. As if he’d won something Kaito didn’t know they were playing each other for. Why? Hakubastard had no reason looking this good in his pyjamas. Also, why? Since when did he keep a spare set of pyjamas just for this guy? Kaito was despondent. His life was spinning out of control.

Hakuba startled, dropping the spatula into the pan, automatically shutting off the fire and turning around to look at him. “Kaito?”

Why was he using his first name?

Kaito buried his face in Hakuba’s pyjama shirt. “I hate you,” he mumbled.

Hakuba laughed, and wrapped him into a hug that had no reason to be this warm and familiar. “Okay.”

The eggs smelled delicious. He was not hungry for eggs.

Hakuba made a small ‘oh’ noise and quietly laughed some more. Spite curled at the pit of his stomach even as Kaito pulled at the seams of his pyjamas — his pyjamas! — and vengefully dove in. At least that shut the guy up. Hakuba hummed, carding his fingers through his hair, gently rubbing at his ear, and then the underside of his jaw. It gave the illusion of him being petted, like a large cat. Kaito wasn’t sure if he liked it.

(He did.)

Later, Hakuba licked lazily at the corner of his mouth and murmured, “If you don’t like eggs, you could’ve just said.”

“I _really_ hate you,” Kaito said, eyes closed and face flushed, clutching at Hakuba’s shirt.

This was getting truly out of hand.

A few more times like this and Kaito felt he really needed to reevaluate his life. How did come to this? Once he had sent Hakuba off and the guy pressed an honest-to-god kiss on his lips at the door, as if they were playing house. Unbelievable. They were not even — what were they?

“So about our arrangement,” Kaito said one day after school. It was another uneventful and unchallenging day, he was feeling frustrated, and possibly reckless; there was a flash of madness during the fifth period where he wanted to fake a headache and drag Hakuba to the nurse’s room. This could not possibly be sane.

“Hmm?” Hakuba sounded distracted. The idiot detective was doing some light reading about the legends and myths on a large amethyst, one that Kaito had his eyes on, and was probably going to send out a heist notice soon — oh, that bastard.

“Never mind,” Kaito said. “Come to the nurse’s room with me? I have a headache.”

“This is so cliched,” Hakuba said, sounding pained, even as his eyes glinted with laughter. “Kuroba-kun. I had no idea.”

Fantastic, at least it was Kuroba-kun again. Kaito pushed Hakuba back onto the bed and climbed up. “Shut up,” he mumbled. “Just — don’t look at me like that.”

The empty room smelled like antiseptic and desperation.

“Also I’m sure this counts as breaking and… and entering,” Hakuba’s fingers dug into his hip even as bright, feverish eyes locked onto his. “Oh Kaito.”

Hopeless, hopeless desperation.

“I hate you,” Kaito said, even as he allowed himself to be pulled down for a searing kiss.

This was all Hakubastard’s fault.

The Internet had a name for this cliched love-hate thing, called “friends with benefits”. Except he and Hakuba weren’t really friends. (No, really.) So Kaito sat and debated the benefit he got from this dalliance. This was, after all, an arrangement: an outlet, a compromise, an exchange of sorts, favours and favours repaid, questions with half answers. In the grander scheme of things, was the book balanced? Kaito frowned as he mulled over all their interactions. The sex was good (better than good), and Hakuba seemed to enjoy it. Alright. The onus was on him to initiate, for some annoying reason, but Hakuba always complied. Hakuba was the one who brought over all the sweets and treats, nonsensical offerings, giving him half-distracted pettings as if he was a large cat curled on Hakuba’s lap. (He did like curling on Hakuba’s lap.) Kaito was the one with all the ideas, reckless and impulsive, always willing to try everything once, and some things more than once. Hakuba rose to his challenges. In fact, Hakuba seemed more than happy to rise to his challenges. Was this the benefit Hakuba wanted after all?

…Because they were certainly, definitely, _most_ assuredly, not friends.

Hakuba dropped a large manila folder on his desk after class.

“What’s this,” Kaito said warily, prodding at the folder with his pen.

“My offering,” Hakuba said, with a hint of a smile in his voice, sounding somewhat smug and sarcastic at the same time. “Same old. Don’t let anyone else catch you.”

Kaito stared, confused, as Hakuba went back to his own desk.

Inside the folder: pages after pages of research on all the upcoming Big Jewel exhibitions in Japan, all their myths and legends, movements and ownership trackings, background and intel, with a small white note appended, in Hakuba’s neat handwriting: “be careful”.

“…”

Kaito sat, poker-faced and unmoving, for two and a half minutes. There was something hot and messy in his chest, which he had no hope of untangling, and a small tendril of something else, which he did not want to examine too closely. Why was Hakuba doing this? The idiot detective gave no indication that he was going to go easy on him during heists, and in fact he never did. (Kaito didn’t want him to.) Kaito was, however, fairly certain that he was already on the right track to figuring out about Pandora, with a sneaking suspicion that Hakuba often disappeared to Europe because the idiot was using his ICPO connections to look up the secret organisation that had Kaito’s father killed. But that’s because the guy just didn’t know when to give up.

He wasn’t.

Was he?

Kami-sama above, this madness had to stop.

“Alright,” Kaito said, whirling around to face his arch-nemesis. “What do you want.”

Hakuba was putting away books in his bag, and was quite startled. “I’m sorry?”

Kaito realised this came out sounding too belligerent, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “What would you like,” Kaito said. “As. You know.”

Now Hakuba just looked bewildered. For a detective who claimed to be able to best KID, the guy was really dumb sometimes. Kaito could feel a slow blush creeping up his neck, so he rapped his knuckles on the boy’s desk, feigning impatience.

“I don’t like owing people favours,” Kaito said. “You should know that.” He did not mean for it to come out so accusing.

Hakuba seemed utterly lost. “Y- no?” A worried pause. “Favour. ” Hakuba repeated the word as if he did not understand its meaning. “To what are you referring?”

Great, so the idiot detective thought he owed him more than one. Which was maybe fair, but still. Kaito sighed. “Alright. Tell me what you want.”

Hakuba furrowed his brows.

“Is there something new you’d like to try?” Kaito said, dropping his voice a little conspiratorially, hoping Hakuba would finally get a hint. Then, in a flash of inspiration: “Something you think I wouldn’t say yes to.”

Hakuba stared at him, mouth falling slightly open.

“Oh come on,” Kaito jabbed, feeling slightly giddy at his upper hand. “You must think about it a lot. I see the way you look at your handcuffs, _hebo-tantei._ ”

Hakuba’s face flushed, but somehow he looked even more appalled. “I would never — Kuroba-kun,” he said, a hint of genuine astonishment in his voice, “Do you know what consent means?”

“Doesn’t this conversation count?” Kaito said. “I’m saying yes.”

“This is not,” Hakuba said resolutely, thumping his books back onto the desk. “I can’t believe — ” Hakuba’s face was trying to convey some form of complex message, and Kaito had a weird feeling that he was being insulted and worried about at the same time. “Do you do this to anyone else?” Hakuba said finally, after a long pause.

Kaito stared. This conversation was not going in the direction he thought it would go. “Are you saying I’m — adulterous?”

“Adulterous,” Hakuba repeated, flat. “Jesus Christ on a bicycle.”

Hakuba dragged him onto the roof, quite predictably empty this time of the day, and kissed him forcefully under the shadow of the ventilating fan.

“Oh, I see,” Kaito mumbled against Hakuba’s lips. “You are very into this kind of thing.”

“Is this all you can think about?” Hakuba said, and the guy had the audacity to look incredulous. “Kuroba, look at me.”

Kaito lifted his eyes reluctantly.

“Under no circumstances,” Hakuba said, voice stern and eyes worryingly sincere, “Let anyone tell you that you should do things you do not want to do. Not even me, do you hear? If I ever ask you to —” For no good reason whatsoever, Hakuba looked pained, “Stop me. Just ask me to stop, and I will.”

Kaito didn’t know what to say to that. If anything, he had an uneasy feeling that sometimes, Hakuba was the one that needed to learn how to say stop.

“What are you, my mom?” Kaito said, even though his mom never told him anything of the sort. “I thought you’d be more enthusiastic than this.” He did not mean for this to come out accusing, either.

Now Hakuba seemed genuinely worried. “Have I ever asked you to do anything — Have you ever — Have I ever hurt you?”

Kaito was momentarily taken aback. “No,” he said, for once feeling a deep certainty at the very core of his being. This idiot detective was incapable of hurting _anyone_. “Of course not. ” Then, in a moment of flitting panic, Kaito asked with widened eyes, “…Have I?”

“Are you serious?” Hakuba said, incredulous.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

There was a kiss. Kaito wasn’t sure it was intended. It just — happened. Come to think of it, there was way too much kissing in this — whatever this was. Why did they —

He kissed Hakuba back. Hakuba’s fingers dug painfully into his arm, as if he couldn’t bear the idea of letting Kaito go. Kaito opened his eyes. Hakuba had a desperate look on his face, exactly like he felt on the inside: lost, bewildered, slightly hysterical, unsure if they were on the same page.

“I thought you were,” Kaito blurted.

Hakuba watched him warily. “Yes?”

Oh, well. It wasn’t like this could get any more awkward.

“I thought your English people,” Kaito continued, face red and well aware of how ridiculous he sounded, “were all, y’know. Pretty open about this.”

Hakuba stared at him. Then stared at him some more. The setting sun’s golden rays cast onto Hakuba’s face, making his eyes bright and liquid. This is how Pandora would look like, Kaito thought distractedly. Falling headfirst, to the unknown.

“Pretty open about this?” Hakuba said finally, aghast. The grip he had on him slackened. “Is that why you are — you think — ?”

Kaito shrugged. He couldn’t look at Pandora for too long, he thought, he would drown.

“Oh my god,” Hakuba ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide and face flushed. “Kaito. Kai — Kuroba-kun.”

“Pick one and stick with it,” Kaito mumbled to the floor.

Hakuba barked a laugh, sounding immeasurably relieved, and exasperated at the same time. The hand was back on his arm, shaking him slightly. “Kuroba-kun,” Hakuba began again, “I thought I had under good authority that your IQ scores in the 400s. I am starting to reconsider my existing data.”

Kaito rolled his eyes. “Thanks, dumbass.”

“You really should have let me buy you dinner first,” Hakuba said inconsequentially, eyes searching his face. “Now that I think about it, somehow this doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

Kaito huffed, even as the corner of his lips lifted hopelessly upwards. “Stop insulting me and say what you mean to say.”

Hakuba puffed a laugh, softer, fonder this time. “I like you, Kuroba. I thought we were dating.”

“Did you?” Kaito said. He would like to note, officially, that he saw this coming, but his traitorous little heart leapt at the confirmation nonetheless. “I couldn’t tell.”

“And whose fault is that?” Hakuba said, still sounding amused and impossibly fond all the while. “Let me buy you dinner. Please.”

“Dinner is overrated,” Kaito sniffed, toeing at the ground. “There’s this dessert shop.”

“Okay,” Hakuba conceded easily. “Whatever you want.”

“And then _I_ will buy you dinner,” Kaito grinned, lifting his head as his heart soared. “ _Hebo-tantei_.”

Hakuba smiled at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

END

Afterwards, in the dessert shop:

“I still feel like we need to have a conversation about cultural stereotypes,” Hakuba said thoughtfully. He was watching Kaito with an indulgent expression. Kaito ignored him in favour of attacking the chocolate parfait. Then, because the idiot detective still didn’t know when to give up: “Was that why you made the fish and chips comment?”

Kaito scowled hard. Hakuba looked like he was having several small epiphanies in the middle of the patisserie. Kaito flushed red and stole a strawberry off his newly minted boyfriend’s plate. “Shut up, Hakubaka.”

Hakuba grinned at him, bright and happy and gratified, as if he had finally figured out a piece of the puzzle he did not know he was being challenged to. If Hakuba looked at him any longer with these eyes, Kaito thought helplessly as he stabbed at his parfait, the entire shop floor would be covered in pink bubbles and silly little hearts.

If only he could stop blushing.

“You know, ” Hakuba dropped a kiss to the back of his hand, all prince-like and cultural stereotypes be damned, “I feel the same way about you too.”

…Oiy oiy. He _really_ hated the guy.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know why I did this


End file.
